I am such a blonde. I always have been, but it seems to be getting worse the older I get and the more children I birth. It’s really quite a marvel that I have to highlight my hair to maintain the sunny shade, as my DNA seems to be dripping with platinum ditziness. (It’s charming. Shut up.)
Anyhow, I took Ben to the pediatrician today for his cough. The doctor and I were making small talk (which I really suck at) and he asked what we were doing for Thanksgiving. I responded that we were driving to Charlottesville, West Virgina for a few days. (Now, if you didn’t pick up on that, Charlottesville is in Virgina, not West Virgina.) I knew that. Really, I did. As soon as the words escaped my lips, I realized my mistake, and hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it.
Now, being a know-it-all doctor and all, he just couldn’t let it slide. You mean Virgina, he inquired? [Insert that moment of time standing still where you realize you're a complete moron here.] A normal person would have answered, yes, that’s what I meant. Maybe a giggle, end of story. Me, on the other hand? No, West Virginia, I say. It’s, um, much smaller than the other one… really pretty… long drive… I mumble. I have no idea what compelled me to respond like that, but the words were just spilling out, taking on a life of their own. He looked at me quizzically and wished me a safe trip. Hopefully, he took into account the fact that I hadn’t slept in three nights due to a hacking child. I bet not.
We’re off tomorrow, to plain old Virginia, to enjoy some good food, family and hopefully, moderately healthy children. I’m truly thankful that each of you somehow find me entertaining enough to keep visiting, despite the blonde behavior.
Wishing you all very, very Happy Thanksgiving!